


I Played a Saint and a Saint I Ain't

by Zee (orphan_account)



Category: Bandom
Genre: Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Other
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2008-02-20
Updated: 2008-02-20
Packaged: 2017-11-10 16:48:24
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 9,184
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/468505
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/orphan_account/pseuds/Zee
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Bad timing, bad luck, and the right kind of self-destructive taste.</p>
            </blockquote>





	I Played a Saint and a Saint I Ain't

**Author's Note:**

> Thanks to helluvalot and miss_saigon and others for all the encouragement.

Frank's first impressions of Bob are: competent, fat, cool, surly, and kind of intimidating. He seems to smoke more than Frank and almost as much as Gerard, Brian spends so much time with him that Frank is almost jealous, The Used treat him like part of the band, and the very first night of the tour he makes My Chem sound better than they ever have before. 

The tour is chaotic and new and challenging, and Frank is so busy just trying to keep his head above water that he doesn't speak to many people outside his band and Brian for days. He doesn't have anything close to a conversation with Bob until the first parking lot bus party, when they share a laugh over the words Bert has written in eyeliner around Jeph's bellybutton. When Frank finishes his beer Bob gets him another one, the last one in the cooler, and Frank decides that Bob is someone he wants to get to know. 

A few hundred miles later, Bob shows Frank how to do some stuff on the boards, to get Frank to stop bugging him for a lesson. Five minutes into it, Frank notices that Bob has really nice eyes and nicer shoulders, and five minutes after that Bob shoos him away, as Frank clearly isn't getting much from the lesson. 

The whole band becomes friends with Bob the way they become friends with The Used: through alcohol, Brian, and sharing cramped and sweaty spaces. Frank hits on Bob easily and often, more for the fun of it than out of any definite determination to sleep with him, but after a while the flirting just blends into their normal modes of pretty-much-platonic interaction. 

"This whole band has a crush on you, man," Gerard tells Bob one night, practically slurring and waving his hand in an expansive, windmilling gesture to indicate his bandmates. "We think you're the bee's knees." Bob smiles and lifts one shoulder in a pleased shrug, muttering something that Frank doesn't quite catch. He lifts his beer cup and makes a toasting gesture to Gerard, but when he drinks his eyes meet Frank's for just a moment.

***

The tour is almost over when Frank finds out about Bob's girlfriend. They're playing a poker game in My Chem's bus, only it's Frank and the rest of his band, plus Brian, Jeph and Quinn, and Bob and two other techs, so the game is mostly played in the parking lot, not actually inside the van. Bob's cell rings, and his smile is almost too fast to catch when he looks at who it is. He answers "Heyyy," and after a pause when the other person talks, says "That's _fantastic!_ " in a high, pleased register that Frank hasn't heard before.

"Say hiiii for me," Jeph says, elbowing Bob incessantly. Bob rolls his eyes and swats him away, standing up and muttering "Back in a bit, guys" before walking far enough away to talk privately.

When he comes back and sits down, Jepha says, "So, how's Jimmy?"

Frank thinks _fuck yes, I knew it_ before Bob snorts and says, "She's fine--she just got this big new client, she's really excited." He doesn't say any more. Mikey takes the game, winning a t-shirt and the last pair of clean socks from Frank.

Bob never really volunteers information about his personal life, but he does answer questions when they're asked. Frank learns that he and Jamia have been dating on-and-off since Bob's junior year in high school; that she's from Jersey originally and went to college there, but now lives in Chicago again; that she's a graphic designer; and that she's been involved in the Chicago scene for longer than Bob has, and came along with him for half of the last Used tour Bob did.

Bob has a picture of the two of them in his wallet, a blurry photo of the two of them holding hands in the middle of some crowd. Jamia's wearing sunglasses and a scarf wrapped around her neck and chin, and her hood is up so Frank can barely see her face, and Bob has his arm around her shoulders.

***

Something changes for Frank on the European tour. Bob and Jamia seem to be going through kind of a rough patch; they don't phone each other very much, and almost every time they *do* talk, Bob's in a worse mood afterward than he was before. Maybe that's why he seems to be so much more present and available, so much more involved with the band; maybe that's why he starts playing along when Frank demands piggy back rides or wants to cuddle with him in the van. 

And Frank finds himself gravitating to Bob more than he has before. The shift is imperceptible until it very suddenly isn't; until Frank realizes that the parts of his day that include Bob are the ones he's looking forward to most, that it's not a coincidence that everything seems brighter and more full of possibility when he's with Bob. Part of it is that Bob is outside the band, so being with Bob means a break from arguing with Matt, from finding the strength inside himself to perform each night, from reproachful and concerned looks from Brian, and from Gerard and everything Gerard is doing to himself. 

It's a relief, and Bob seems to get that he fits the bill for part of what Frank needs right now. Frank lets himself notice that Bob is hanging out with him more than the others, imagines that there are silences between them sometimes when Bob seems to look at him a certain way, lets himself think that Bob is closer to him than he is to anyone else on this tour. And maybe, maybe Frank is part of the reason Bob chose to come on this tour and spend another three months away from his girlfriend.

***

It's a fight that could've so easily been avoided if they weren't all exhausted, cranky, and well on their way towards tanked. Later Bob will blame himself, but he'll be the only one of them who does.

Matt hasn't really been pulling his weight onstage this tour. It's something that everyone's noticed and no one has commented on, and Frank knows that Matt knows it. He knows that Matt's not happy with his playing, he can see the extra tension before shows that never seems to go away after they get off the stage no matter how wasted he gets after. It's making him snappy--and shit, they've toured before, _everyone_ gets snappy at points. They've done a pretty good job of ignoring his bad mood.

"You need to step up your game, man," Matt says to Bob, smiling like he's just joking around. "The drums didn't sound great tonight."

"Yeah, well, it's not always the tech's fault if a musician doesn't sound perfect," Bob says, frowning a little into his beer. Everyone kind of pauses--Bob's been brushing off Matt's attitude as well as they all have, he's been great and calm and good for everyone the whole time he's been in Europe with them.

But Bob is recovering from the death flu, and everyone has their limit. Frank glances back and forth between the two of them; Matt's jovial expression is wiped from his face.

"What's *that* supposed to mean?" matt says, voice louder. Bob mutters something under his breath and drains his beer.

"Speak up," Matt says. "If you've got something to say to me, fuckin' say it--"

"There's only so much I can do if you play like shit," Bob says, loud as Matt. Brian frowns and starts to stand up, saying "Guys, come on--"

"Fuck you, you're just our tech," Matt says, and Bob goes red in the face and puts down his beer, but Frank is already up in Matt's face.

"Way out of line," Frank snarls, and Matt looks at him with eyes wide in surprise and hurt. And Frank gets it, knows that he's supposed to think of Matt as his more than Bob, but--

"What the hell?" Matt is yelling now. "It's not like he's up there with us!"

"I'm still doing my *job* better than you are," Bob snaps back, taking a step towards him.

"Who *cares* what you do," Matt says savagely.

"We all care, stop being such a dick," Frank says, putting himself in between the two of them. "Just fuck off, Matt--"

"Everyone just cool down," Brian says, but Matt shoves Frank. Hard, harder than Frank was expecting, and he stumbles back and falls on his ass.

When he looks up, Bob has grabbed the front of Matt's shirt and hauls him sideways, into the edge of a table. Matt breaks free and swings at Bob's head, clipping him in the jaw. Everyone moves to restrain Matt, but Bob hits back, slugging him in the gut.

Frank loses track of what's happening. Bob and Matt careen around the room, wrestling and hitting each other, moving too fast for Brian and Ray to try and pull them apart. It stops when Bob slams Matt against the window and the window breaks.

Bob steps away immediately, shocked at himself, and Brian is right there dragging him away. Ray steps in front of Matt to restrain him, but Matt isn't gunning for Bob anymore: he looks dazed from impact and his cheek is bleeding from the broken glass.

"Fucking cool it, both of you," Brian spits out when he lets go of Bob. Frank doesn't think he's ever seen Brian so pissed off. "Bob, I think you should go back to the other room."

Bob takes in a sharp breath, and Frank can see the words sting. The other room is where the few other techs on tour are, but Bob has been sleeping in the same room as the band most every night, largely by virtue of the fact that he's usually hanging out with them until they all pass out. And Brian's suggestion makes sense--Matt's stuff is in here, Brian can't throw him out for the night--but after Matt's particular insults...

"Yeah, sure," Bob mutters, leaving the room. Frank finds himself following, and doesn't care how it looks or how obvious it makes his loyalties.

"Hey, hey," Frank says in the hallway as Bob takes long strides to get away from the rest of the band, Frank hurrying to keep up. "Hey. Look."

Bob looks at Frank over his shoulder and slows down a bit. "It's late and we're on the road tomorrow," he says, voice gruff. "Shouldn't you be back with your band?" and, wow, Matt got him deep.

"I *am* with my band," Frank says, and he means it to sound reckless and profound and moving, but it comes out just kinda dumb. Bob gives him an incredulous look and unlocks the door to the tech room, which is empty--the techs are still out at the pubs.

"Frank, whatever this--you don't have to, okay? I'm fine," Bob says, tossing his key on the nightstand and sitting heavily on the bed. Frank can see the skin reddening and bruising slightly along his cheek, where Matt got his good hit in.

Frank sits down next to him. "Matt is an asshole and we all think of you as family and fuck him anyway." Okay, so that's a blatant lie, because Frank really doesn't think of Bob as family. Frank is more than a little tipsy and, given that he can feel the heat from Bob just sitting next to him on the bed, he wishes he were further gone. 

Bob's jaw works and he stands, going to the mini-refrigerator and pulling out a six-pack like he read Frank's mind. "You don't need to take my side, and he might be an asshole but you know he's kind of right." Bob hands Frank a can without needing to ask if he wants one. "I'm just your sound guy, and I'm only here because I'm a fucking fanboy." Bob shrugs and drains a good quarter of his beer. "It's none of my business if your drummer plays like ass."

Bob talks more when he's drunk, which is one of the reasons why Frank likes drinking with him. "None of us think of you that way," Frank says, and wonders how obvious it is that he's saying _I don't think of you that way._ "You have no idea how much harder this leg would be without you."

Bob snorts and takes another gulp. "Right, you would sound a lot worse," he says, and Frank puts an arm around his shoulder, lets the sleeve of his shirt rub up against Bob's neck.

"Shut up," he says, and if his voice wants to sound soft and breathy, well, that's the way it's gonna be. "You know what I mean."

Bob looks at him, blue blue blue eyes, and he's quiet for a moment before he says, "If you say so," and holds up his beer so that they can clink their cans together. Frank does so and they toss it back simultaneously, and Frank feels the warmth go all the way down to his toes.

***

An hour later and they're officially maudlin, and Frank is officially being manipulative, handing Bob fresh cans the second he finishes a beer and nodding sympathetically. He doesn't move his arm from around Bob's shoulders.

"It's not that it's never been hard for us," Bob says, waving a hand expansively, and Frank can feel the sweat on Bob's neck on his palm. "We broke up when we went off to college and didn't get back together for, fuck, _years_ , and it's not like I've ever gone away on tour before, right? But this is just--this feels fucking different, it actually feels like I could really lose her this time."

"I don't know, man," Frank says, pushing his thumb up against the stubble on the underside of Bob's jaw. He feels--well, he feels drunk, and turned on, and he knows he's not taking this situation as seriously as he should be. He tries to, for Bob's sake. "But maybe your history means that it could be just another little needed break, you know? I mean, you guys have been together this long, in the long run you'll probably still work it out."

Bob shakes his head and laughs, a little. "No offense, Frankie, but that doesn't make me feel better a few thousand miles away from her." He finishes his beer and leans his head on Frank's shoulder, and Frank does his best to get past _holy shit Bob is leaning and breathing on me._

As distracted as Frank is, it's still impossible to miss the way Bob says 'a few thousand miles away from her' like it's 'a few thousand miles away from home'. A big part of Frank is throwing a tantrum about how *unfair* this is, how lame and sucky and awful it is for Bob to already be this in love with someone else when Frank is right here. 

"She's all super ambitious right now, so fucking driven, and I think she's getting all driven to leave me," Bob says. "And--and she's pissed me off so much, we didn't _like_ each other before I left for this, and. Frank, fuck." 

"Fuck," Frank agrees. 

Neither of them speak for a while, and that's when it gets more dangerous.

"I just don't know what to do," Bob finally mumbles. "What do I do, Frankie?"

Frank swallows. "I--" _I don't know_ becomes "I don't think you should be asking me that right now."

Bob laughs a little. "Yeah? Why not?'

The sober part of Frank is apparently content to just watch. "Because it would be awesome for me if you broke up with your girlfriend."

Bob sits up a little, looking Frank in the eye and frowning. "Uh, what."

Frank swallows. "That--that came out wrong. I--I just meant--" His tongue feels thick and useless, and Frank finds himself leaning in slowly, deliberately, to brush his lips against Bob's. It's not a kiss, exactly, so much as it is a careful declaration of shy intent.

Bob doesn't move, and Frank is at least grateful that he's not shoving Frank away and yelling. He looks at Frank, giving Frank a second to get his hopes up up up, and then,

"No." He looks only a little pissed; more confused, sad, wistful. "Come on, you know that--no, okay? Just no."

Frank looks down at the comforter. _Sorry sorry sorry I just thought I just wanted..._ "Yeah, I know. I--I'm drunk, man, I wouldn't--I just thought you should know."

Bob's hand is callused and sympathetic on Frank's shoulder. "Hey. Hey, I like you, okay? I'm not--I mean. This doesn't have to fuck everything up."

Of course Bob would be forgiving and mature and cool in this way, and it makes Frank want to smash things. "Yeah, no, you're right." He yawns, stretches. "Can I pass out here tonight? I'm not gonna try anything," he says quickly when Bob hesitates. "I just don't want to deal with... with them right now."

"Can't blame you there," Bob mutters. "Sure, man. Pass out wherever."

Frank is hungover and mortified at himself in the morning. He apologizes profusely and Bob tells him it's fine, and then starts laughing when Frank keeps apologizing, sorry sorry sorry like it's tourette's. 

"I wish you and your girlfriend all the best," Frank finishes babbling as Bob snickers. "Really. _Really._ "

"You're a pretty cool guy," Bob says, still laughing a little, smiling at him.

***

One night, five days and three shows before they're scheduled to fly back to the states, Jamia calls and Bob spends hours on the phone in the hotel bathroom. Frank occasionally hears Bob's voice rise and fall, but he can't make anything out; he listens to his iPod and pretends to himself that he's wrapped up in his book and not just waiting for Bob to come out.

When Bob does come out he looks relieved, and he immediately goes to talk to Brian. The next day he tells them all that he's sorry, but he's flying home now. It doesn't screw them over; they'll just rely on venue sound guys for the last few shows. Everyone says that they're happy for him that he patched things up, and they all wish him good luck. 

Frank and Bob share a cigarette break right before Bob's taxi comes to take him to the Stockholm airport. They haven't really talked about that night ( _that_ night) since it happened, and Frank is relieved that Bob seems to fall in with the 'Not Talking About It Means You're Not Letting It Fuck Shit Up' school of thought.

"It's gonna be weird without you, man," Frank finds himself saying. "I mean--yeah," he says, cutting himself off before he can say something that will make them both awkward.

Bob gives him a one-armed hug and says thanks, gruffly. "I'm gonna miss you guys," he says, but it's impossible to miss the barely contained joy that's been in his voice all day at the thought of going back to her.

***

That summer things get so fucked up so fast that Frank stops thinking about his crush. He's exchanged emails regularly with Bob since they left Europe, but that stops once they hit Warped. Frank knows that he's been through hellishly difficult tours before, that this can't be the worst, but something inside of him has lost the faith that he'll make it.

Frank gives Matt a split lip and gets a black eye in return on the very first day. They call a truce that night when they're both drunk and high, and Frank can't remember the night after that. The next morning Ray tells him that he did at least seven tequila shots, and Frank's so hungover he can't keep anything down all day. He can't even blink without wanting to close his eyes and just sleep, and when someone offers him speed to get him through their set he takes it gratefully.

Gerard starts passing out in Frank's bunk most nights. He throws up a little on Frank's pillow one time, and Frank is pissed but he's at the point of inebriation where he wants to sleep more than he wants to yell, so he passes out on the bus couch.

They get daily updates from Brian on how well the album is doing. Frank gets in another fistfight with Matt. It's hot as balls all the time, and he knows that things are too far gone to laugh about it when Gerard's so drunk his pants fall down onstage, but it feels like the only reaction he has left.

***

The decision feels like a cruel one, even though all four of them know that Matt doesn't even truly want to be in the band at this point, anyway. Frank feels guilty, but mostly he feels a desperate, fragile, and slightly unhinged sense of hope overriding everything else. Maybe Bob is really going to be a part of them and maybe Gerard is really going to stay sober, oh please oh fuck oh please. Frank can't focus on anything else beyond how much he needs this to work.

He can see that Bob feels the same way the second he arrives to drum for them, and that alone makes Frank relieved. If Bob wants them, this--that's all they need.

When the I'm Not Okay shoot is finally over, Bob puts his sticks down and rubs at his face, his hands shaking a little. Then he laughs, shoulders shaking with exhaustion or amusement, and Frank finds himself giggling, too. 

"So you're a movie star now, hope you don't mind," Brian says to Bob, in that typical Brian way where you kind of hope he's joking but think he's probably not. 

Bob rolls his eyes and shoves Brian half-heartedly away. "I'm only going to be in it for a few seconds anyway, whatever."

"Nah, the camera clearly loves you," Frank says. "We've decided to make you a star." Bob flips him off, and Frank is overcome with the sudden urge to hug him. He wraps his fingers around the mic stand to keep himself from going over.

***

Everything moves so fast and he's sober for all of it, his head so clear that it's terrifying. And then they're on fucking _TV_ and Gerard's face--and his face too, holy fuck--is being featured in teenie magazines, and 3/4 of the time Frank really believes that this has to be happening to someone else.

Frank might be feeling like he's living a dream, but Bob looks shell-shocked 24/7. He only talks as much as he absolutely has to during interviews, if he opens his mouth at all, and Frank swears he manages to turn invisible during photoshoots. He disappears to talk to Jamia for hours at a time when he can, and Frank only hopes he's not babbling to her about how crazy this is and how he never wanted to get into something this big.

But he puts so much into his playing. He tries harder than Frank's seen Matt try in years, he never misses a beat, he makes Frank wonder how the hell Bob hasn't been snatched up by a world-famous rock band before they got to him. He plays and he's there for them, quiet most of the time and bitchy when they try to film him or take his picture, watching stupid movies with them in the bus and agreeing to the makeup and the uniforms with a shrug. Frank doesn't know if Bob realizes how much they all need that right now, how much Gerard needs someone who's just quiet and strong and there. 

Sometimes Frank is so grateful it makes him a little dizzy to look at Bob. Sometimes he can't believe his luck, and thinks that he's going to wake up from this at any moment.

***

Bob comes out of his bunk and sits with the rest of them in the bus living room; they were all watching _She's All That_ before Jamia called him. He has a very small smile on his face, the kind that Frank has come to know means he's overjoyed.

"So? What was that all about?" Frank says, reaching his leg across the couch and Ray's lap to nudge Bob's side. 

"She's flying out to meet us tomorrow night," Bob says, and the smile gets wider as he looks up to grin at all of them. "She's coming along for the rest of the tour." The smile falters then. "Uh--I mean. That is okay with you guys, right?"

"That's wonderful!" Gerard immediately gushes. "Of course it is, we've all been dying to meet her!"

"Dude, are you sure she won't be scared away by Eau De Ways?" Frank says, nodding in Gerard's direction with his voice full of over-the-top concern. He ignores the way his heart is definitely not deflating a little in his chest.

Mikey half-heartedly punches Frank's shoulder, and Gerard makes an indignant noise while Frank laughs. Bob says, "Dude, she toured with _The Used._ Gerard will just be an amateur to her."

"We'll be happy to have her," Ray says to Bob, and Bob's smile doesn't really go away for days after that.

***

Frank's first impressions of Jamia are: sharp, full of herself, loud, funny, and cuter than she looked in the pictures he's seen.

"He's told me about you climbing on his kit and then falling on him during shows," Jamia says after she's been introduced to Frank, laughing, and Frank's smile shows his teeth.

After about five minutes it's obvious to Frank that Jamia is nervous to be meeting the band, and is overcompensating by talking and laughing so much. Bob never takes his eyes off her, and they don't seem to be big into PDAs, but they hold hands for almost that whole first day. 

Frank knows that she's met Brian before, but it's still startling to see them hug each other in greeting. Frank thinks he sees her whisper something in his ear before she lets go, but he can't really tell. Jamia keeps looking between Brian and Bob and then between Bob and the rest of them.

"This is so fucking amazing for you," she says in the middle of conversation. "God, I'm so--" her smile is a little wavery and a lot proud, and when Bob does lean in to kiss her Frank looks away, feeling a little like he's seeing something he shouldn't.

It's kind of hard to be resentful of her after that, and Frank doesn't try to be, anyway. Bob is practically glowing, which is actually kind of bizarre to see on him, but still cool. And Jamia, after she's relaxed, is kind of awesome. They discover that they went to the same elementary school before Jamia's parents moved to Chicago, and her choice colorful remarks about their horrific 5th grade teacher make Frank laugh so hard he gets soda up his nose.

Jamia gives him a particular kind of surprised smile at that, the kind of smile you give to someone when you're pleased and shocked that you were able to impress them. It makes all her angles seem softer and Frank realizes that he's staring a little, and also that there's soda drying sticky on his chin.

He sees Bob and Jamia kiss again that night, right after they play. Jamia's sidestage and Bob walks offstage and right into her arms, and it's heavy--only a step removed from one of those classic movie kisses where the man bends the woman back and they cling and the music swells. Most of the guys around clap and laugh and whoop, the treatment most couples on a tour will get, and Jamia laughs when they separate while Bob tries to glare.

***

"Man, can I steal your girlfriend?" Frank says to Bob a few days later, laughing after Jamia beats him again on Mario Cart. "The ability to school my ass is definitely one of my requirements for any future husband."

"Ha! So you admit that I'd wear the pants then, Princess Toadstool?" Jamia says smugly. She squirms around on the couch until she's sitting cross-legged, her socked feet tucked under her knees. The movement makes the couch dip a little so that Frank slides just enough for them to be touching, their arms and thighs lightly pressed against each other.

"I don't subscribe to such binary gender definitions," Frank says loftily, and Jamia slugs him in the arm. Bob laughs at them and goes back to whomever he's texting, and Frank notices that he's wearing a hoodie Frank has also seen on Jamia.

Jamia turns to Frank with a wolfish grin. "You're going another round, right princess? Don't you dare pussy out."

"Calling Frank's cowardice at gaming 'pussying out' references those binary gender definitions," Bob says without looking up from his sidekick, and Frank reaches around Jamia to pinch the sensitive skin at the base of Bob's neck before Bob shoves his hand away. Frank has to lean on Jamia for balance and she's so very much right there, solid and warm and smelling vaguely flowery.

They get two weeks into the tour before Frank realizes he's in love with her.

***

Frank isn't sure what makes him feel worse: that he's in love with one of his best friend's girlfriend, or that he's in love with the girlfriend of someone he's liked in a retarded, thirteen-year-old-girl, dreamy fantasies way for months. He kind of can't believe that both of those scenarios are true, and it's just so--fuck. He's pretty fucking certain that it's the kind of thing that could *only* happen to him.

Well, actually. He could see it happening to Gerard, maybe. But beyond that, he doesn't know anyone with bad enough timing, bad enough luck, and the right kind of self-destructive taste to fall into this.

The night he figures it out, he ditches hanging out with Bob and Jamia to go to some hotel room party most of the techs are at. He drinks, for the first time since Gerard made his decision, but even in his lovesick self-loathing haze, he can't make himself drink enough to get blissfully hammered instead of just slightly-more-than-tipsy--too many months of being sober in support, too many conversations that illuminated just how destructive that kind of love for alcohol could be. Frank has never been in Gerard's shoes, but there are still patterns he doesn't want to fall back into.

He can't stop thinking about her. It's not any one thing, it's--it's the shape of her knees when she wear skirts, it's her smiles and eyelashes, it's the manic look on her eyes while she plays video gaming and the ridiculous, purposefully-unattractive fake-grin face she pulls whenever someone tries to take a picture of her and Bob. Frank has never paid such close attention to detail in his life.

He's not actually certain if he starts spending more time with her (them, really), or if it just seems that way because his whole life has narrowed to Jamia and Bob. And he doesn't want this, he doesn't fucking *want* this, because Frank has been many different kinds of asshole in his life, but this has never been one of them.

He fantasizes about Jamia, he fantasizes about the two of them together. He wants her all to himself and he wants her to stay with Bob forever because of how happy they are for each other. He wants to never see them again, and it's kind of driving him crazy the extent to which he _does not have_ that option.

***

The thing is, it's Bob. Bob, who never even questioned the idea of not drinking to support Gerard, even though he hasn't known Gerard as long as the rest of them have; Bob, who fumes adorably but never actually kicks Frank's ass when Frank climbs all over his kit during performances; Bob, who hates getting his picture taken, who has given Frank the most stability and calm he's felt in years after just four months in the band, who plays along when Frank gets bored and starts bunk-diving. Already, Frank can't even picture his band without Bob.

Frank has never been the type of person to not go after what he wants, especially not someone he wants this badly, but it's _Bob._ Every time Frank jumps into his bunk to piss him off and crowd his space, after a few minutes of ineffectually shoving at Frank Bob just sighs and lays there, and there always seems to be so much warmth from his body. Frank's always hyper-conscious of the way Bob's pressed against him then, not in a sexual way--well. Not in a way that _Bob_ probably thinks of as sexual, but it still makes Frank's dick pay attention.

But more than that, Bob's warmth just makes Frank want to push himself back even more, makes him want to curl against Bob and just stay there. Stay there as the bus eats up huge chunks of highway, still and warm for miles and miles and miles. 

Frank dives their bunk once when Jamia is tucked in against Bob, her reading and him reading over her shoulder. Mostly Frank just wants to see if he can get away with it. Jamia laughs, her surprised happy bray, and Bob groans the way he always does, that groan with a giggle tucked beneath it. There's ineffectual shoving and then that stops like it always does, and fuck, Jamia's tits are pressed against Frank's back, and he swears he can feel Bob's warmth even through her. Frank doesn't let himself stay there long, not because he doesn't want to give his desire to curl up with them away, but because he needs to jerk off in the bus bathroom right fucking now.

***

"You need to tour with us all the time," Ray tells Jamia as Gerard nods his head furiously and Mikey smiles (it's practically a beam, for Mikey) in her direction. 

Jamia grins and ducks her head so that a lock of hair flops over her cheek, framing her face more. She's blushing and Frank feels slightly strangled.

"Seriously, all the time," Gerard adds, like he doesn't think Ray was emphatic enough. "Seriously, we love you."

"I couldn't talk you into helping me manage them, could I?" Brian says hopefully, and they all laugh. Bob loops an arm around her waist, easy and comfortable.

"I am technically a rock star now," he says, quieter than the rest of them. "We can afford a lot more plane tickets now."

Jamia sort of laughs a little like she doesn't know how seriously to take it, and then she looks at Bob. The smile changes into something a little softer and more thoughtful, and she reaches her fingers up into Bob's hair--already so much longer than it was when Frank first met him.

"I don't have any projects that I can't do from the road right now," she says, her voice matching Bob's tone. She leans in to kiss his cheek, the angle meaning that Frank can't quite see where her lips meet his skin.

***

Frank tries to keep it so that he doesn't get much time alone with her, which isn't a difficult task considering that she's only there to be with her boyfriend. But as Jamia and Bob stop spending every second they can together, as they go back to being just a normal couple--god, it seems like she's everywhere suddenly, alone with Frank all the time.

Again, he's not sure if it's just his own perception or what. He suspects his grasp on reality has become slightly unhinged.

And every time she meets his eyes and holds his gaze, every time any part of their bodies touch, any time there's a pause in the conversation...

Frank has no idea what's there and what isn't. He knows what he wants to see, what he wants _her_ to see when she looks at him.

He knows what he sees when he looks at her; he knows what he sees when he looks at Bob. He doesn't know how it's possible to feel so much for two different people. He doesn't know what to do.

***

He kisses her. It happens when they're sitting on the couch in the bus watching the 90s remake of _Godzilla_ on cable; Bob and Ray are in the back studio doing something technical, Gerard is sketching, and Mikey had been watching but left 3/4 through the movie to go take a nap.

One moment Frank is watching Mikey walk away, and then he's pressing his lips against Jamia's. No thought or consideration or guilt, just Jamia right there. Gasping in surprise and then, oh, oh god, kissing back and making a noise and clutching at Frank's leg, pressing in.

They kiss again, and again, and then Jamia pushes herself away, "Shitting fuck I don't fuck hell."

Frank thinks a fan should print a button for him that says _Officially Scum of The Earth_. He puts his elbows on his knees, his head in his hands, his fingers clenched in his hair. 

"We're not going to do this," Jamia says, sounding hysterical. A small part of Frank is flying, _flying,_ just knowing that she feels at least a bit of the same way. "We're not. I love Bob, more than anything, we--I mean. Fuck, Frankie, you know that."

He does; he sits up. "Yeah, yeah I'm not--I shouldn't have done that, I'm sorry, I." His voice doesn't even sound like his, and he makes himself meet Jamia's eyes. "I'll stay away from you, okay? From now on. I promise."

She looks like her eyes might be welling up, which makes Frank want to stab himself. "I don't *want* you to," she says, and it sounds like a child's plea, something said almost involuntarily. "This sucks."

Frank swallows and nods, and that's it, he really can't look at her anymore. He stares at the opposite wall instead.

"I know you're Bob's friend," she says, and Frank wishes that she would shut up. Just leave, he thinks, just leave me the fuck alone. "I know you care about him--"

"I love him," Frank says, his voice sharper than he meant it to be. He would cut off an arm to help Bob out, and he's been having wet dreams about Bob for almost a year now, and it doesn't really make him feel better to realize that his feelings for both of them are exactly identical.

Jamia is quiet for a while. Then, "*I* care about you," and her voice sounds just like Frank feels. He turns around fast, stares at her, but now Jamia is the one not looking at him.

"You should go," Frank says, and it's like talking through molasses. She nods jerkily and wobbles when she stands, before walking fast to the back of the bus with her hands stuffed in the pockets of her hoodie.

Frank lies down, takes the whole couch for himself, and notices that Godzilla has come back from commercials. Her lip gloss is smeared just a little on his chin.

***

Frank knows how good he is at the show that night. He's not just owning the songs, he's all over the stage and the crowd is going _insane._ He does things with his spine that he was not previously aware he could do, and he climbs up on Bob's kit five separate times. All through the set, he swears he can feel Jamia's eyes on him from sidestage. He hopes it's just his imagination.

Every time he climbs on Bob's kit, Bob looks up at him. Bob's mouth is open and his lip ring is glinting, he's sweaty and breathing hard and Frank wonders if Bob knows what he fucking _looks_ like when he drums. 

Frank can't see the blue in Bob's eyes in the stage light, but he knows it's there. He makes himself jump off again right before the moment when his balance would give out and he'd fall each time, and when he plays on his knees he lets his forehead rest on the grimy floor.

After the show as they walk off, Jamia isn't there, and Frank finds himself trailing behind the rest of the band with Bob. Their eyes meet, and Frank hurries to catch up with the band, except--

"I'm in love with your girlfriend," he hears himself say, and he can't look away from Bob, from the way Bob exhales so sharp. "I kissed her, earlier today. And you--I--" Bob's lips are parted and Frank can't stop staring.

Many emotions seem to flash across Bob's face at once--surprise, confusion, anger, hurt, surprise, and there's anger again. Bob's body jerks into movement and he's shoving Frank. Not hard, not against the wall or with any sense of purpose, just like he can't stop the momentum. He shoves Frank and then keeps a hold of his t-shirt, grabbing him in close and tight.

Their eyes locked and Frank knows they both feel something slick and hot spark right here. Frank--Frank has stopped fighting _any_ of this, and he just holds his ground and waits for Bob to decide.

Bob lets him go as fast as he grabbed him, and walks fast to catch up to the group. 

Frank is exhausted. He faceplants onto his bunk when they get back to the bus, and he doesn't dream.

***

Frank doesn't talk much to Bob outside the group for a couple of days. Bob seems to be ignoring Frank's confession, at least to Frank's face--Frank is certain that he and Jamia have talked about it. If they've decided on any consequences, Frank doesn't see anything play out.

Frank spends a lot of his time on the phone with his parents and his grandpa. They talk about the album's success, about what the _fuck_ is with the crowds at their shows, about how Brian and Gerard are doing, about how things are back home. Frank spends a lot of his time listening and smiling and nodding and loving the sound of his mom's voice, her accent, the way she can rant on and on and give him this right now. 

He doesn't mention falling in love with two people who happen to be in love with each other, he plays hard each night, he hams it up in interviews. He thinks he's finally reached a point of zen (or acceptance of despair) when Bob drags him aside after a show, pulling him into an unused venue dressing room before Frank has really processed what's going on.

"Jamia told me what happened with you guys," Bob says, and Frank shakes himself, getting loose in case he has to roll with a punch.

"She left it up to me, up to what I wanted to do," Bob says, and Frank takes a step back. Bob takes a step forward, and then he's grabbing at Frank's shoulders hard enough to be painful and kissing him.

He does shove Frank up against the wall this time, his tongue hot in Frank's mouth. Frank's hands flail and grab helplessly at Bob's arms and back, his body already arching in. He can sort of hear the embarrassing noises he's making and he's rock hard; his brain has checked out and Frank doesn't really think there's a point in it ever checking in again.

"We get hotel rooms tomorrow night. I think the three of us should talk about all this more," Bob says before fleeing the room, his face red, and Frank thinks _oh my fucking GOD._

***

Frank does not sleep at all that night. He jerks himself off three times, and when he just can't get it up anymore he listens to Black Flag and Jawbreaker on the loudest settings until his mind stops hyperventilating.

***

It can't be what he wants it to be. No way. No _way._

***

Bob opens the hotel room door the second Frank knocks. He's standing there looking more nervous and uncertain than Frank has ever seen Bob Bryar look, and past him Frank can see Jamia sitting on the bed, leaning forward with her hands gripping the comforter.

"Come on in," Bob says, rushed like it's one word, and Frank moves past him into the room.

"Hey," Jamia says, and her voice actually sounds close to normal. She gives him a smile that seems out-of-place on her face, her chin defiantly lifted, overcompensating in the same ways she was when Frank first met her. Frank glances back at Bob and thinks _loveyouloveyouloveyou_ and he doesn't even know who he means.

"So," Frank says. "Talking, yeah?"

Jamia barks out a laugh, and Bob smiles. "I don't know," he says. "Do we need to?"

For the first time, Frank actually allows himself to feel something like real hope, and he meets Bob's smile. 

"We asked you here to--" Jamia starts to say, and Frank talks over her in a rush.

"It's both of you for me," he says. "It's both."

"We know that," Jamia says, sounding almost annoyed. "Frank, come here," and Frank realizes that Bob has stepped close to him and put his hand on the small of Frank's back. Frank walks over to her with Bob's hand steering him, sits down on the bed. 

The first thing Jamia does is put her hand on his crotch, and it shocks a laugh out of Frank. She gives him a grin, shaky and relieved, and Frank feels the bed dip as Bob sits down on his other side. Bob's hand moves until it's under Frank's shirt, touching skin, and Frank is hard. He pushes up into Jamia's hand and kisses her, again, as Bob leans in to press his face against Frank's neck.

***

It takes a while before they get any clothing items definitively off. Hands are everywhere, up shirts and down pants and they fall back until they're lying on the bed. Frank has always loved making out, those moments you can only really have before you've had sex with someone, when just touching nipples and seeing bare skin is mind-blowingly exciting, when you almost can't think about _actual sex_ because it's just too much. 

Frank gets completely out of breath kissing Bob and has to flop back on the pillows, panting while Jamia giggles at him. Bob is chuckling too, his hand on Frank's belly with his fingertips tucked under the waistband of Frank's briefs. 

"Wow, so, um," Frank says hoarsely. Everyone's movements have kind of stopped, but it's not an awkward pause, not really. Jamia is kneeling next to him with her shirt pushed up over her breasts and her bra unhooked, but not off; Bob's thigh is hooked over Frank's leg. 

Jamia reaches down and covers Bob's hand with her own, lacing their fingers together. 

***

Bob likes to watch. Which is not to say that Frank or anyone else would not like watching two people he's attracted to fucking each other, but Bob seems appreciative in a way that makes Frank feel distinctly out of breath.

"That's, yes, oh," Jamia babbles as Frank pushes his two fingers in again, deeper than he did the last time, up to his knuckles. The heel of his hand is against her clit and Jamia's hand is wrapped around the back of Frank's head, her fingers tangled in his hair. Frank licks a stripe up her chest and presses his face against her neck, breathing ragged, and when he looks up at Bob--

Bob's jaw is set and his eyes are glittering and he's tense, way tense, in a way that almost makes Frank expect "Hey asshole, get your fingers out of my *girlfriend,*" but it's--it's not that kind of tension, not when you look deeper. 

Bob's nostrils are flaring and Frank can see how hard he is and how his eyes are roving over Frank and Jamia's bodies, rarely blinking. It sends sparks down Frank's spine and make him think that he could come just from meeting Bob's eyes.

Frank groans and turns his face into Jamia's neck, rubbing against how soft her flesh is there. Jamia's voice is coming out high and uneven, almost squeaky, and Frank wants, oh god, Frank wants it all.

"I think you should fuck me," Jamia says, her voice shaky in an entirely un-Jamia-like way. "I really--I really think that, yeah."

"Hn," Bob says, nodding. His movements are seamless when he moves forward to kiss her, his hand coming up to cup her jaw. Frank can see the details of it, the way he's biting her lip and the way her tongue runs along his lip ring, and Frank whimpers a little.

Bob looks up at him, panting. His hand is right there on Jamia's skin, right by Frank's face, and Frank grabs his wrist and sucks Bob's middle finger deliberately and sloppily into his mouth.

"If I'm going to--then I think you should--" he stutters out, and he knows Bob gets it when Bob's mouth falls open just a little more.

***

Frank hadn't quite realized how much coordination his idea was going to require. He's pushing into Jamia and it's good, god it's so fucking good, but he's unable to build up a good rhythm and angle because he's distracted by Bob's fingers in his ass.

"Frank," Jamia says, pleading and a little exasperated as she pulls on his shoulders. Frank gasps and thrusts into her again, tries to roll his hips synchronized with hers. Bob's fingers are scissoring inside his hole, though, stretching him open and Frank is thrusting back against him automatically.

"Hm," Bob says. "This could be tricky."

"I'm not going to stay wet if it keeps going this way," Jamia says, blunt as ever. "Also, I think I want to watch him fucking you."

Bob laughs and pulls his fingers out, making Frank gasp. "Okay. I can wait." His eyes are amused, not annoyed when his face moves back into Frank's line of sight, but Frank is still pretty embarrassed. With these two, of all people, he would really rather be smoother in the sack.

But Jamia hooks her leg over his shoulder, the angle making him push in deeper, and Frank grips her thigh and groans. He shoves in deep and then follows with shallow, faster thrusts and Jamia makes a sound very similar to a caterwaul. And fuck it, Frank knows he's pretty damn good at this, he has a few saved voicemails and emails from exes to prove it, and now he has Jamia's head thrown back and her fingernails digging into his back. He's inside of her and Bob is watching with his hand casually on Frank's hip and his eyes on Jamia's face, casually possessive of both of them.

***

"Oh fuck shit, go, yes that, fucking fuck _hell_ \--"

"Wow," Jamia giggles. "You're kind of..."

Yeah, Frank knows what he gets like with something deep in his ass, what he looks like and sounds like. He so doesn't give a fuck right now, he just needs more. He groans loudly into his forearm and pushes his ass shamelessly up, "Come fucking _on,_ Bob, Bryar, _fuck_ \--"

Bob fucks him hard enough that it knocks the breath out of his body, Frank's urging words huffed noiselessly out onto the bed. It hurts and it's good, so fucking good, Bob fucking him open and deep and thisclose to his prostate, Bob giving Frank what he's been asking for.

"Oh," Bob says, and his voice is--Frank doesn't think he's ever heard Bob sound quite like that, needy and open and utterly vulnerable. "God, you--"

"More," Frank says, grinding up and clenching his fists in the sheets. Jamia squeezes his arm and lets her hand trail down to pinch his nipple, and Frank yells as Bob pushes in again, "OwfuckyouBob _jesus_ ," he babbles, and he's close and he's close and he's close and then he's there, coming again on the hotel bedsheets and he wants Bob to use him. He feels boneless and he wants Bob to let go, to fuck his now-loose body through the fucking bed.

"Keep," Frank gasps out. "Keep going, you can--anything, Bob--" 

And Bob does, and his voice is that same almost-broken when he groans "Love you," and out of the corner of his eye Frank can see Jamia sitting up to kiss him.

***

The next day is strange.

They wake up to the sound of Brian pounding on the door and yelling "Get your asses out of bed _now,_ we have to be on the road yesterday, and have you guys seen Frank anywhere?" and things don't really improve from there. They scramble out of bed and into clothes (last night's clothes, for Frank), and then Gerard catches Frank hurrying out of the room after Bob and Jamia. Gerard's eyes bug out of his head and Frank has to slap a hand over his mouth and drag him to the side before there's an incident.

"It's exactly what it looks like and I'll explain later, okay Gee?" Frank says as he takes his hand away, and Gerard's eyes continue to bug. " _Okay?_ "

"Um," Gerard says manfully. "Sure."

Frank feels like he spends the whole day blushing. Gerard keeps staring, in what he probably thinks is a subtle way, which means that Mikey and Ray catch on quick that something weird is going on. Frank barely knows what the situation is and he doesn't think he can handle talking about it to anyone but Gee right now, so he tries to ignore them.

Frank gets Bob alone. "Um," he says. "Um--hi. So. Has it ever been more than just the two of you before?"

Bob gets what Frank means and he looks away, his cheeks a little red. "No. Well, there was--she watched me with another guy. But that was--" And redder. "Not the same."

Frank looks at Bob. _Please tell me this isn't a one-time thing,_ and _Did you really mean you loved me or did you just mean her?_ and _How much do you trust me?_ "Do you want it to be more than the two of you now? More than once?"

Bob shakes his head. "You haven't been paying attention." He touches Frank's elbow and Frank shudders in a breath. "She told me she was in love with you, that day you kissed her. And I--" His smile is a little crooked. "I don't give up careers for just anyone, Frankie."

Frank doesn't really know how to deal with what he thinks that means. He pulls Bob into a hug, the kind of gripping bear hug that Bob gives better than anyone else Frank knows. Frank pulls away just enough to kiss him with the knowledge that he has nothing left to hide filling his body like oxygen.


End file.
